


You do know that, right?

by mylia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, aerithqoc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylia/pseuds/mylia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt for JohnlockChallenges' Grab Bag Challenge, from aerithqoc : “I’ve never thought that you were a freak. You do know that, right?”</p>
<p>John can't say it. So he tries to find a way to tell Sherlock without having to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You do know that, right?

**Author's Note:**

> I believe I may have either written this brilliantly or horribly. Please forgive me and enjoy!

Right now, if you asked someone what they thought about John Watson, they would say something along the lines of: "John Watson is incredibly brave, selfless, and dependable and amazing."

If you asked Gregory Lestrade, he would say, “John is a great guy; nice to have a few pints with him.”

If you asked Mycroft Holmes, he would say, “He handles my brother well.”

If you asked Sherlock Holmes, he would say something similar to, "John is not an idiot, unlike yourself. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

And if you actually _did_ ask John himself, he would say he was the most unlucky and cowardly person in the world. Why, you ask? Because he had fallen in love with his flat mate and didn't know how to tell him.

It was a gradual experience, he realized late one night when nightmares were keeping him up and there was nothing else to think of. It was as natural as breathing to be slightly attracted to him- almost everyone was.

But while most people were fascinated by his intelligence and certain “uniqueness”, John felt he loved the humanistic qualities of Sherlock. When he showed some sort of emotion, whether it was as simple as him being tired or him showing genuine concern, it touched him rather deeply.

The question that remained was why he couldn’t say those three damned simple words. The answer had come as quickly as the question: because he wasn’t sure how Sherlock would react. As much as he loved him, he knew that unless Sherlock would reciprocate, he would be hurt.

But he couldn’t just keep it to himself, could he?

After some tossing and turning, John had almost given up any hopes of falling asleep when a soothing noise from downstairs reached his ears. Sherlock was playing the violin; he had accurately deduced that John was unable to fall asleep, and decided to lull him to sleep. As if he wasn’t in love already.

And at that moment, the universe exploded in John’s mind as the idea of how to tell Sherlock how he felt came to him: he would get Sherlock to deduce it.

It would be easy; just some simple words at the right time, a movement here or there to get Sherlock’s attention and sooner or later, Sherlock would approach him and tell him what he was doing. And, if he was lucky, it would help him to develop a mutual attraction.

John never felt happier when he went off to sleep that night.

* * *

 

The first time John tried was at a crime scene. He decided this would be a perfect place to try and hint to Sherlock, where he was already deducing all over the place. One little extra deduction wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary.

But in the rush of adrenaline at the scene, signaling to Sherlock had been driven out of his mind. He had been given a chance, however, after they solved the case and were heading off back to the cab.

“Oi, freak!” Sally Donovan called out, causing John to turn around instinctively as Sherlock simply kept on walking.

She was standing beside Anderson, the two of them chuckling mildly. Sighing heavily, she turned to John. “What, aren’t you going to go after him?”

He clenched his fists, and replied in a careful tone, “Yes, I am, actually. Do you have a problem?”

She snorted. “No, go ahead. I’m just waiting to see how you’ll react when he decides to leave you.”

It was lucky that John had such amazing self-control; otherwise she might not have been able to live to see the next day.

When John had caught up to Sherlock, red-faced in anger, he let out a casual sigh and turned to Sherlock’s pale face. “You alright?”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied coldly. “Anderson and Donovan are only slightly more intelligent than single-celled organisms.”

He stifled a mild chuckle. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

There was an awkward silence before John finally spoke his mind. "I’ve never thought that you were a freak. You do know that, right?"

"Of course John," Sherlock responded, ending the discussion.

John sighed, hoping Sherlock had taken the hint. Or else, he might have to step up his game.

* * *

 

Much to his expectations, Sherlock never brought the incident up, instead continued on as of nothing had been said.

So John decided to try again, using a different tactic. The opportunity was presented to John on one of those days where all the criminals of London decided to take a break. Sherlock had angrily stormed into his room earlier after a deep-seated tantrum, and John decided to go and investigate.

What he saw inside was not what he had expected: Sherlock was standing in front of a body-length mirror, wearing an expensive looking tux. John had to blink a few times before being able to respond with an impressive, "Oh."

"Hideous, isn't it?" Sherlock snarled at the mirror. "Mycroft is forcing me to wear it at some sort of political gathering."

John held back a chuckle, smiling. "Hideous, really?"

"Atrocious."

"... I don't think so," John finally stammered out. "I think it looks... good on you."

Sherlock turned to him, an expression of mild confusion on his face. "What so you mean?"

What _did_ he mean? "Um, well, it uh..."

"While I appreciate the effort John, there is no reason to lie," Sherlock sighed, turning back to the mirror with a grimace.

"No, I'm not lying Sherlock!" he replied a little too quickly, but wasn't that the point? "I was just looking for the right words. It uh, pardon the pun, suits you. Complements your physique." He gestured to all of Sherlock.

He glared at John with a curious look, which slowly lightened. "Is that your professional opinion or your opinion as my friend?"

His face was steadily reddening. "It's- it's both, I guess. Are you going to keep it then?"

Sherlock didn't respond, looking back to the mirror. His morbid expression was gone, which was a bit of a relief to John as he went back to the comfort of the kitchen.

"That went great," he muttered to himself. And it really was: John had showed most of the signs people do when flustered with attraction. In fact, he highly doubted that Sherlock would let this incident go by unspoken.

It was a good thing John wasn't the detective; Sherlock didn't say anything about the suit or what John had done within the room, causing immense frustration.

What did he have to do to prove it to Sherlock without really 'proving' it? Maybe it would be best not to, if he couldn't see it...

* * *

 

It wasn't his intention to turn the situation into a moment of romantic realization, but it had happened anyway; all thanks to Sherlock.

He had gone on ahead, chasing after the suspect and had gotten a rather large injury to his abdomen.

When John had found him lying on the ground bleeding heavily with the criminal standing over him, he did not hesitate to strike. Sherlock soon fell unconscious as the ambulance arrived to escort him to the hospital, leaving John in a state of misery until his flatmate woke up.

After all, you just can't have someone die before you tell them how you feel. And John still was unable to say it.

When Sherlock finally opened his eyes, John let out a shaky breath. "Oh god. Sherlock are you okay?"

He nodded, trying to sit up. "Stomach hurts, but otherwise I am fine."

In a controlled burst of anger, John began shouting. "What were you _thinking_? You could have gotten killed! I- I just... Dammit Sherlock!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, regaining his composure. "Listen, Sherlock. I know you can't wait to go after whoever you're going after, but I need you to be careful, okay? At least wait for me, if not Greg or any other cop. Okay?"

Sighing, John gave the injured man a sympathetic look. "You're my friend, Sherlock and I can't handle you getting hurt."

Sherlock kept his expression blank, simply nodding. "I will attempt to oblige to your request John."

"Right... So, do you want me to tell you how we got him?"

* * *

 

It was about a week later, when John was out buying groceries that Sherlock began a detailed examination of the doctor's behavior.

John had become steadily stranger, ever since the crime scene where Donovan had once again called him a freak. There, he had become upset after Sherlock had dismissed his comment about calling him a freak. He knew John didn't think he was a freak- it was one of the first things that had surprised Sherlock when they had met.

Then there was the incident with the disgusting tuxedo, where John was genuinely blushing. John- _blushing_ \- it seems impossible, yet he had witnessed it himself. Finally, what John had said to him in the hospital? _"... I can't bear to see you hurt..."_

All signs pointed to one direction: John was irrefutably in love with him. However John was usually direct with him regarding even the most sensitive matters; so why has he hesitant in approaching this?

The answer came instantly, and Sherlock berated himself for not seeing it earlier: he was attempting to appeal to his intellectual side, getting him enticed and interested in hopes that there would be a better chance of building an intimate relationship.

Sherlock knew what he had to do. When John came back, he ran up to him and grabbed his shoulders, starting intently into his eyes which were steadily widening.

"John," he spoke barely above a whisper. "I've never thought you were weak. You know that, right? I always considered you to be the strongest, most dependable man I know."

"Oh," John replied, confused. "I- um..."

Sherlock did not wait. "I find your jumpers very suitable to your body type and seem very, as they say, _cute_. And you are far more than my friend John- you are my only friend, the most important man in my life, and what I cannot bear is a life without you."

John stood speechless, the groceries forgotten on the floor beside him. For a split second, Sherlock was afraid that he may have read the signs wrong and it all was a strange series of coincidences, but the smiling expression growing on John’s face ceased his worries.

“So you found out?” he asked, placing his own hands on Sherlock’s.

“You played your emotions perfectly,” Sherlock said as a warm feeling enveloped him. “I apologize for not finding out sooner.”

John let out a laugh. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t say it. You do know that, right?”

“Of course, John. And you never have too.”


End file.
